Scarecrow
by TheShoelessOne
Summary: A missing scene from DMC. Elizabeth finds a dishevelled Norrington after his fight in the tavern. A peek into the minds of the two before joining Jack's crew. Maybe NorringtonElizabeth if one REALLY reads into it.


"James Norrington, what has the world done to you?"

Half-asleep, through the grog and the nasty wound bleeding rather openly on the top of his head, Norrington gazed through clouded vision at the young lad kneeling beside him in the animal slop. The words must have come from the boy's mouth, but Norrington found it hard to make most anything out in the haze forming behind his eyelids.

"Who--?" He slurred, reaching absently to wipe the mud-- and God knew what else-- from his face with the back of his hand. But the figure leaning over him ceased his movement with a wave of his own hand, the second cradling him almost gently.

"Quiet," the voice urged him, though not impatiently. Norrington closed his eyes only a moment, then squinted at the figure in the dim light, incomprehensibly. The face began to take shape as it loomed above him concernedly, and Norrington's mouth hung open, flabbergasted.

Those eyes, fitting together with the smile he'd inspected so long, the hair tucked carefully under an old, tattered hat hanging into those familiar, haunting eyes. Eyes that had haunted his sleep for longer than he wished to count. The drunken stupor was fading away at the astounding revelation hanging over him, holding a handkerchief against his bleeding head-wound. He allowed a half-smile under the grime and untidy facial hair.

"Elizabeth?" His voice was reedy through the alcohol, but the woman smiled sadly still, nodding. He heaved a low sigh, closing his eyes again. He could feel her soft fingertips against the back of his skull, supporting his lolling head. "Thank God," he said quietly, his now full smile fueled by both drink and release. He then peered up at her scrutinizingly, through one eye. "You're the fellow that smashed that rather hard, glass bottle against my head, aren't you?"

Elizabeth nodded again, guiltily.

"You would've been run clean through by those pirates." Her handkerchief sopped up the blood mingling with his dark hair. "I had to do something." The tone in her voice admitted that, had there been an easier and less humiliating way, she would've found one. Norrington nodded, hissing at the pain it caused to flash through his temples.

"I suppose one must consume considerably more alcohol if one wishes to take on so many pirates at once?" He asked to no one in particular. Elizabeth looked sadly across the ruined man's face, brushing a great glob of muck from his brow with her kerchief. The bleeding had apparently stopped.

"I think it's the alcohol that _caused_..." She paused, searching for adequate words. Norrington shook his head, allowing Elizabeth to pull him queasily to his feet.

"Caused _this_," he said with loathing, sweeping a drunken eye over his person. "I know," he sighed, leaning helplessly into Elizabeth's grip. She helped him take his first quavering steps forward, and he managed after that with help of Elizabeth's grip around his waist and his own arm slung across her shoulders. Her strong, yet fair hand gripped his as it hung limply around her thin shoulders, and a laugh shook his weakened frame. "I am a scarecrow," he said sullenly. "A useless husk of what man formerly occupied this body."

"Comm--" Elizabeth stopped herself. She'd wanted to say "Commodore," but the man had made it quite clear that his former station no longer applied. His lidded eyes searched her face, then he looked away sadly.

"Norrington," he prompted. Elizabeth smiled encouragingly, leading, or dragging, the man through the busy streets of Tortuga. The smell of the docks was pungent even from the tavern.

"James," she substituted. This prompted a smiling, admiring look from the former commodore, but he kept his eyes at his booted feet. "I have known you for a very long time, and do not think that you are a-- what was it? Useless husk?"

"Useless husk," Norrington echoed, solidifying his own words. Elizabeth propped the man up on a stack of crates, bearing an insignia long faded by sea-water. His head swam for a long moment. He felt an odd, heavy sensation gripping his middle. Quickly, old habits taking charge once again, he excused himself from the lady's presence to heave over the side of the wharf. Elizabeth cringed, looking away. There he remained, leaning embarrassedly over a crate filled with rotted fish, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. A uniform that once meant something.

This time, sadness caught in his throat. But this he could choke down. He fought it back, stumbling again to where Elizabeth sat waiting.

"I am sorry," he admitted. "I've never really..." He trailed uselessly off, admitting his lack of experience with hard liquor. Elizabeth thankfully switched topics, staring up as Norrington leaned carefully on the stack of crates beside Elizabeth.

"I suppose it's true then, that we become what we hate," she said sadly, pulling her collar up around her cheeks as a suspicious pair of pirates grumbled past. Norrington gave them a hairy glance, his hackles raised, then turned with a drunken wobble back to face the woman.

"You mean that talk with Sparrow?" He asked without expecting an answer.

"Why, of all people, would you want to join the crew of the _Black Pearl_?"

Norrington glanced with a crooked smile and raised eyebrow to the still-lovely woman.

"Why resort to Sparrow when so many other able-bodied pirate crews are willing to accept a disheveled, disgraced ex-commodore?" He glanced wistfully off at the sea, black and churning in the night. The sound was far off, the docks still a good walk from where they stood. "Chasing Sparrow so far and for so long, I've come to know what to expect from him. At my lowest, serving under a pirate banner, at least I know I can trust a man who, for months, outran my entire fleet." He looked again toward Elizabeth, who was standing again, searching her eyes. "Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, I suppose," she admitted, offering her arm again. He shook his head, stubbornly refusing help. "I'm to join his crew as well." Norrington inspected her concernedly before looking quickly away to the water again.

"Has he captured you as well, then?" He sighed, reaching for any long-lost dignity he had hidden under his mud-caked, sullied uniform. "Of anyone, Elizabeth I'd hoped--" His featured contracted painfully, "--hoped you might escape."

Elizabeth watched the black-sailed ship bob gaily in the dark water, so close, so far, so tangible. She hung a comforting hand on Norrington's arm.

"Even when things look darkest," she said, her eyes never leaving the ship, "there will always be a dawn." They met gazes, both lost in the past that both had hoped was long forgotten. "You think that this, now, is your darkest hour-- serving under Jack Sparrow himself. But your dawn will come, James Norrington."

He allowed himself one, real, sober smile as he faced her again.

"I'm sure that serving with you, Elizabeth Swann, will make this Hell slightly less damning an affair than I had planned it to be."

He excused himself once more to retch secludedly over the wharf before Elizabeth led him staggeringly to _The Black Pearl_.


End file.
